


Stardust

by Hexacorallia



Category: Rick and Morty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-11 07:45:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11143992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexacorallia/pseuds/Hexacorallia
Summary: Just a sad story about a Rick and his Morty. I'm not good at writing summaries. I'm better at writing stories than summaries.





	1. Chapter 1

It was around midnight. He always hated midnight. It was when his mind wandered further then he ever wanted it to go. It wandered to memories. Memories of love, of loss, of failure.  
Memories of when he lost his Morty.

Another mouthful of alcohol to kill the memories. His Morty wasn't lost, exactly, but he was...gone. C-834 Rick still lived in the house with C-834 Morty, but it wasn't like it used to be. His body was still there, just the same living, breathing, pulsating body that he always was, but his mind was...

More alcohol to dull the pain.

“Those fucking mongrels,” Rick muttered to himself, completely ignoring the tears that had found their way onto his work bench and were seeping onto his blueprints.

They had taken his Morty. The Counsel did. His waves were “aberrant,” they said. He was “becoming a danger,” they said. He had to be “altered,” they said.

At this point the alcohol in the flask was becoming nothing more than fumes, but Rick was desperate to kill the thoughts. He knew he shouldn't have been working this late into the night. But he felt manic this night.

This was the night that he was going to set his Morty free.


	2. Chapter 2

“...yeah I know, Beth, but he is your father, so shouldn't you be the one to talk to him?”  
“Jerry, we go through this almost every night. I don't care. You do.”  
“And I'm going to keep caring, Beth. I'm going to care until that fucking madman is out of our house! And I'm going to keep caring because you don't seem to give a shit about what happens to this family! It's his fault that Morty is how he is, but it's mostly your fault for letting him get involved in this! You killed our son, Beth”  
“...too far, Jerry. Too fucking far.”  
“WILL YOU BOTH SHUT THE FUCK UP,” Rick screamed from the garage. Jerry and Beth were arguing, yet again, in the kitchen adjacent to the garage, and, yet again, caused Rick to be distracted from his work and reminded of the chaos that he had inadvertently caused in the C-834 house.  
The C-834 family used to be like the majority of the dimensions. There was a Rick, a Beth, a Jerry, a Summer, and a Morty living in the same household. For the first 14 years of the Morty's life, things were fairly average, at least as average as a like with a Rick could be. Nothing was particularly unusual or outstanding about this dimension. They lived on an Earth, they were all humanoid, and they all went to work and school with some degree of normalcy.  
Up until last year, the Beth, like most Beths, worked in animal care. C-834 Beth had a penchant for orthopedics and built a career based on it, working as a dedicated surgeon. After what happened, Beth worked as a PRN vet, only working occasionally and spending most of her time at home. She mostly loved her Jerry, she mostly loved her Summer, she mostly loved her Morty, and she completely loved her Rick. She drank copious amounts of wine to dull the pain of “mostly loving” her family. She often had her red lipstick smudged on her teeth, and she spoke with a higher pitched voice than most Beths. There was nothing deviant about her.  
Up until last year, the Jerry, like most Jerrys, worked in advertising. After what happened, he became unemployed. This Jerry, like virtually all Jerrys, was not creative, smart, talented, interesting, or motivated. He was average. Middling. Beige. You could probably pick him out of a lineup based on the fact that his averageness was almost strange. And like virtually all Jerrys, he hated his Rick. There was nothing deviant about him.  
Up until last year, the Summer, like most Summers, was a high school student with no particular talents or goals. She wasn't very interested in the adventures of her Rick and almost never envied her Morty like some Summers do. She tended to wear her hair down, but that was about the only trait that could set her apart from other Summers. She fit right in to the average family dynamic of the C-834 family. There was nothing deviant about her.  
The Rick was a little different, as truly all Ricks are. His hair was almost white after stress had caused the color to fade, and his face was dappled with freckles. He used to wear the requisite blue shirt and black loafers, but recently he'd begun to wear a grey shirt and black military-style boots as a faint symbol of his rebellion. This Rick was fairly low on the evil scale, was an active member of the Council, visited the Citadel as often as prescribed (or he used to, at least), and wasn't much for high-stakes adventures, at least not in his older age. A burn across his throat from an unfortunate incident on an offworld hunt for Quentium crystals was there to tamper his wanderlust every time it cropped up. He almost lost his head for that one. Who knew that Quentium crystals were protected by the government of the planet? And who knew that the government used heat blades as punishment? This Rick was not particularly resilient, and that incident put an end to any fantasies he had of being a more adventuresome Rick. After that, he became a builder, an inventor. It would be hyperbolic to say that he was “known” for his creations, but it would be an understatement to say that he was an unknown, average Rick.  
He took part in the creation of a self-renewing energy source for the Citadel. He invented his own portal gun with no help from any other Ricks. He was the one who designed the detector for Quentium crystals in the first place, although that ended up poorly for him.  
And he was the one that designed The Collar.  
He would never regret anything more in his life.  
Because his Morty, he was not an average Morty.  
There was something deviant about him.


	3. Chapter 3

“What gives you the right to yell at me in my own house, Rick”  
“I don't know, Jerry...what gives you the right to talk to my daughter like that?”  
“...at least your daughter can still talk to you.”  
“What the FUCK did you just say to me?” Rick lunged towards Jerry and was three seconds from knocking him unconscious with a wrench before Beth stepped between them, almost getting hit with the wrench herself.  
“STOP. Stop. This ends tonight. I'm sick of you two being at each others' throats constantly. This is getting ridiculous.”  
“The only ridiculous thing I see here is the sorry excuse for a man standing in front of me,” Jerry spat, his cheeks getting so red that they almost matched the red lipstick smeared on Beth's teeth.  
Rick completely ignored Jerry's pointless dig, or at least he tried to. The business of ants does not affect the lion, he told himself. He had to tell himself these things. He'd become so damaged that he was a Rick with no self esteem at this point, and it was the only thing he could do to stop from completely crumbling. But he knew he was a sorry excuse for a father, a grandfather, a Rick. He let his Morty down. He let his family down. He tried to go back to his blueprints and ignore the fighting, but it still got through to him. He pretended to screw in a bolt on a random piece of scrap metal while stifling tears.  
“Jerry. Stop. You need to stop.”  
“Beth, why are you taking his side? You always do this.” Rick continued to fake being busy. It was true. Like most dimensions, this dynamic had Beth supporting Rick to a fault. And with good reason.  
Many Ricks end up having a separation from the family before they end up back as part of it. C-834 did not. This Rick's wife died fairly shortly after Beth was born. It was an event that is not unusual for Ricks. Some of them become estranged due to this, feeling a sense of intense detachment, and a smaller portion become even closer to the family. They became acutely aware of the value of the family and of the feeling of loss. C-834 was one of these Ricks. He raised Beth by himself. He stayed close to the family after she married Jerry. The only reason he ever left was to go work at the Citadel, but he came back after Morty was born. Rick was a good father to Beth, because the loss of a family member was not something he ever wanted to experience again voluntarily.  
Rick kept playing with the scrap metal. He started to pace around, getting slightly irritated at the interruption of his work. Not that he was getting much work done in the first place, since his thoughts kept interrupting him more than the fighting did.  
“I take his side because he's a good father, Jerry. Unlike you.”  
“Unlike me? What gives you any right to say that? You're the one that let Rick do whatever he wanted with the kids, and that's why we're in this situation at all!”  
“Do NOT blame this on me.”  
“Fine. I'll blame it on the person whose fault this is.” Jerry stomped up to Rick who had found himself wedged in the corner between the work bench and the garage door, still screwing in pointless bolts on pointless metal. Beth slumped over on the nearest wall in tears, completely exhausted by this night, this year, this lifetime.  
“Rick.”  
“Yeah that's me, Jerry. Good job on facial recognition. Maybe next time you can try not being such a gigantic asshole.” Rick didn't look up from his fake work.  
“Rick, you listen to me and you listen well. This is your fault. You were supposed to protect him. You were supposed to make sure that nothing bad happened to him. I want you out.”  
“Yeah, you've said that before. Kind of an empty threat there, Jerry.” Jerry tore the metal out of Rick's hand in a fit of unrestrained anger. Rick stood up in a jolt, and before he could get his balance, Jerry had him pinned against the wall.  
“This is it, Rick. This is over. You are done. You've done enough damage to this family. If I had my way, I'd just...” Jerry grabbed a shard of sharp metal from the workbench and held it to Rick's throat right over the burn.  
“Well, fucking do it, Jerry! Quit pissing around and just fucking kill me!”  
Beth began crying louder, loudly enough to attract both of their attentions. They turned away from each other and Jerry loosened his grip. Rick took the opportunity to push Jerry so hard that he almost fell over on the concrete of the garage. He grabbed the scrap metal, opened the door, and walked outside, slamming the door behind him. He could hear Jerry stomping his way upstairs. He could still hear Beth wailing. And from outside, in the still air of the night, he could hear the constant beeping sound coming from Morty's room, the only sound that let anyone know that Morty's heart was still beating.


	4. Chapter 4

About three years ago, Rick C-834 was called to the Council. At the time, he was one of the primary engineers at the Citadel, and the Rick that the Council would most often turn to when they needed something built. Rick never felt like a dog of the Council, even though that's exactly what he was. He felt too proud of his position as a major engineer to even consider that he was basically at the Council's bidding.  
The Council needed something, and they needed it fast. When Rick arrived at the Citadel after being called, he was immediately whisked away on a small self-driven hovercraft with blackened windows to a private conference room that even he didn't know existed, despite having had the blueprints for the facility in his possession at one point. He could hear cloaking devices, the cloaking devices that he invented, being deployed during the trip. The need for such drastic privacy measures frightened him at first, a feeling that was overcome with a slight sense of arrogance. He was needed. And whatever he was needed for, it was not only top secret, but incredibly urgent.  
When he landed and the hovercraft opened, he found himself in a completely white room, the white plastic gleaming so much so that it almost burnt his eyes. The walls seemed to glow from within. A recorded voice commanded him to step to the wall directly in front of him. A scanner popped out of the wall, scanned his body, and receded within seconds. After a moment, a panel in the white wall receded and swung back, revealing a small conference room. The walls, ceiling, and floor were all made from the same white material as the annex. In the center was a horseshoe-shaped table around with the six Ricks of the Council sat, all eyes trained on Rick C-834. He was beckoned forward by Alpha Rick.  
Rick C-834 tentatively walked into the room, feeling slightly intimidated at the situation. As soon as he was within the threshold of the meeting room, the door slid shut, forming a seamless wall behind him. He nervously sat in the chair situated in the middle of the horseshoe. Rick had met with the Council countless times and never felt nervous like he did in this moment. Being in a room so private that not even he was allowed to know how to get there was daunting. He swallowed hard and tried to think about his Morty to calm his nerves.  
“Sorry for the short notice, Rick. We need something, and we need it fast.” The urgency in Rick Alpha's voice was immediately concerning to C-834. Normally the Council Of Ricks was an unflinching, almost emotionless group. Hearing a lilt of fear in Alpha's voice was cause for serious alarm.  
He'd been called to the Council so frequently that when the soldiers appeared out of a portal that morning to escort him, he just assumed it was because some instrument or power source went down at the Citadel and needed repairs or because they wanted advice on a new project. He was completely unprepared for what the truth behind this meeting was.  
“It's fine...it's fine. So what's going on?” C-834 attempted to to keep his voice calm so that the Council wouldn't pick up on his fear.  
“There's...a Morty problem, Rick.” Riq IV said, eyes trained on C-834.  
“Oh no...well, what is it? What do you need me to do?” C-834 had a particular soft spot for Mortys, especially his own. The thought of a Morty problem sent a shock of fear straight to his chest. The Council traded glances and then all turned to look at him.  
“I think it would be better if we showed you,” Riq IV said. The Council all stood up at once and walked over to the far corner of the room. Riq IV placed his hands on a seemingly blank part of the wall. With a click, a panel in the floor slid back to reveal a grey staircase that led below the room.  
“Come on,” Riq IV beckoned. C-834 slowly rose from his chair, his face pale. He was still reeling from being brought to such a secluded and top-secret meeting, and this was further impacted by the news of there being a Morty problem. His typical cool, slightly arrogant confidence was completely shattered by fear of what he would find at the end of the stairwell.  
The Council lined up to go down the stairs, and C-834 joined as the end of the group. For a moment, he hesitated. He considered telling them that he wasn't up for the job. That they needed to find someone else. He wanted more than anything to just portal himself home and pretend that this hadn't happened. But he knew that the Council wouldn't take kindly to that idea, and his pride as an engineer wouldn't let that happen anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

He tentatively stood at the threshold of the staircase as the other Ricks proceeded down them. He stood there, bathed in the white glow of the room, sweat beading at his temples. A horrible pain shot through his gut, his anxiety writing through his body.  
A deep breath.

1, 2, 3...

He was too far now to back out. Rick carefully began to walk down into what seemed like pitch darkness. As his eyes adjusted, he could see the back of one of the Council members, but couldn't make out quite who it was. A wave of dizziness forced him to reach out into the blackness for stability. He shot his left hand out to try and use the wall for support. For a moment, the cool, smooth texture of the stones calmed him, until he realized that they were wet. Slick. Greasy. The feeling of the grease on his hands combined with the complete bewilderment as to what caused the stones to weep like that made his dizziness even worse, and he had to sit down.  
He looked around. His eyes had fully acclimated, and he could see everything in the room, which wasn't much. Above him, the door to the meeting room had entirely closed. There was no way out now, which was almost calming. He had no choices now. No exit.   
The only light in the room was a faint red glow coming from the bottom of the stairs, casting everything in a sickly crimson tint. The staircase sloped gently down in a spiral to the right, with the weeping wall on the left. The stairs were made of grey concrete. This area was such a contrast to the rest of the Citadel. The Citadel was clean, modern, full of vibrancy, including the secret meeting room. This place was clearly not crafted with the same level of attention for some reason. Was it older? Was it an original installation? Was it...forgotten?  
Rick could make out the figures of the six Ricks of the Council. He couldn't see their faces, but he could see their backs, the white monoliths that controlled the lives of almost all Ricks. Their decisions were final. Their determinations were unwavering. They formed an impenetrable wall that no Rick could ever hope to scale. The best one could do was to obey. There were, of course, rogues, but life never turned out well for them. They couldn't hide forever.  
They could never hide forever.  
Rick was beginning to calm down. He had begun thinking of his Morty, of how grateful he was to have such a wonderful one. He was full of life and energy and creativity. Rick had met other Mortys before, and they just never seemed as vibrant as his. His relationship with Morty actually caused him to be a bit of a pariah among other Ricks. They thought it was weird. To them, a Morty was just a functional piece of equipment, or at best a beloved family member.  
“Oh look, here comes C-834. Lock up your Mortys!” was a common refrain when he walked through the Citadel. It didn't bother him.  
He loved his Morty, and that was that.  
Rick had almost forgotten that he was in a musty, ancient staircase on a mission that made him uncomfortable to the core of his being. Almost. A drop of what was debatably water fell right on his forehead, breaking him out of his serenity. He groaned slightly and stood up just as Quantum Rick's voice split the silence of the stairwell.  
“C-834, are you coming or not?” A pointless question since C-834 didn't really have any other options.  
“Y-yes, I'll be down in a second” Rick took one look back at where the door to the meeting room was and began to walk down the stairs, his shoes softly thudding against the concrete. The staircase consisted of about one hundred steps, and Rick wanted to take his time going down them. Time to try and relax and prepare for whatever greeted him at the end. He could hear the Council members whisper in irritation at the time he was taking to walk down there. But it was his time. He needed it.  
Rick finally made it to the foot of the staircase. He looked up at the room above him and could see nothing but blackness. In front of him, the six Ricks were illuminated in the red glow from a slightly low angle, making them look like some sort of demons.  
This was not a settling image, Rick thought. This had better not be indicative of anything.  
He could now see that the red glow was coming from a line of plastic bricks embedded in the floor. They seemed to be of the same material that the meeting room was composed of, which added to his confusion about the history of this place even more.  
The red line. Something about it seemed like a warning. Like this was some sort of place he shouldn't go. A barrier separating chapters of his life. He chastised himself for being so dramatic. Nothing could be so life-altering that it would split his life like that.  
Rick C-834 would look back at that very moment and never forgive himself.  
Above the red bricks was a metal door with a line of bolts around the edges. It had no windows, no grates, no handles, nothing except six white squares inset in the metal. It towered above the Ricks, as it stretched from floor to ceiling, completely sealing off whatever was behind it. C-834 had no concept of how old the door was, with the only hint at its age being small patches of rust near the bolts.  
All of the Ricks were silent.  
The only thing that floated through the still stagnancy of the stairwell was a faint cloud of screaming from behind the door.  
And the thick, cloying, heavy scent of blood.


End file.
